


Breath on a mirror

by Analinea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode: s05e07 Strange Frequencies, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Analinea/pseuds/Analinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets his memories stolen and everyone realizes how much he changed over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath on a mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a Doctor Who episode (still crying over it tbh)!

**It all just disappears, doesn't it? Everything you are, gone in a moment, like breath on a mirror.**

-

What hurts most, as Scott quite literally holds Stiles' life in his claws, is not the memories he lived through making him realize how much he didn't know. What hurts most is watching his best friend and realizing how much changed.

Stiles looks around him with curiosity, but also with a degree of trust that vanished with the years. He doesn't survey his surroundings like a threat could jump out of every shadow and every person. He's innocently investigating.

He looks less sure of himself, standing with his shoulders hunched a little, hands in his pockets, but he moves a lot. Swirling on his feet, making wide gestures with his arms, flailing around. Talking a mile a minute, and Lydia looks at him like she wants to be annoyed but she can't. She just can't because she's noticed it too.

The smiles. The bright smiles, and the jokes; not just sarcasm - _my only defense_ \- but actual jokes and god, his eyes. Open. Stiles doesn't hold that much secrets and hurt anymore, doesn't hold himself back. 

Scott closes his eyes for a second as he thinks about all of this. All these years that made Stiles someone different. Or, no, not different, because his core was never destroyed. The rest of him just evolved around it. We all change in time, we all become someone else, but Scott wonders if that transformation was a good one.

He wonders if he really must make this younger, happier version of his best friend go away again, disappear in a second. It feels like killing him.

Scott, Lydia and the Sheriff exchange a small, broken smile. After this. After this, Scott promises himself, he will go and find Stiles' happiness to give it back to him. He's going to have help doing it, he knows. He hopes they will all find some peace for themselves, on the way.

It's his last thought, before he drives his claws in Stiles' neck.

 

_Guilt, shame, relief. Heart still pounding in fear, from the exertion of running away from death. This time, this time it felt closer than any other hellish day before. Physically clutching his legs and not only coursing like ice through his veins and the paths of his mind._

_Red on his hands gripping the steering wheel; not someone else's blood but still, Donovan's feels like it's spreading in every crevasses of his fingerprints, staining his very soul. This time...this time it was more than his own hands, it was his own mind, too._

 

The night he staked out the vet's clinic and his Jeep was flipped, just before darkness claimed his mind, Stiles saw who was stealing the bodies.

When his unconscious body was dragged out of the burning wreck of his car, the confusion and concussion distorted and blackened the memory. He shared with Theo that he saw someone, though. That was his mistake: he didn't trust Theo, but he thought this half information would be safe to give.

He got himself up to his feet, dusting his pants on the way up. The look in Theo's eyes when he finally straightened up made him stumble back a step.

Cold, calculating, threatening; all the things he tried to convince everyone the guy was, to no avail.

They should have listened. They should have noticed the pattern by now, how Stiles is always able to pinpoint the evil. On his worst days -more and more frequent-, Stiles was convinced that it wasn't a gift, not even a curse. Just evil recognizing itself.

Theo advanced on him with a smile that lost its charming purpose to only become taunting. Stiles, still disoriented from the way his head hit the ground, tried to back up but only tripped on his own feet and almost lost balance.

Theo extended a clawed hand and Stiles swatted it away once, twice. He quickly realized he was only allowed to, much like a cat would let a prey think it could run away.

Theo huffed out a laugh at Stiles pitiful attempts to defend himself before catching the hand that was trying to push him back. He twisted it painfully, making Stiles gasp and half turn to relieve the pressure on his shoulder.

But the burning in his arm was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the pain that came after. Sharp claws stabbed into his neck, four points of icy fire. He breathed hard once, before he couldn't get any more air into his lungs.

The half fuzzy memory of the body stealer was recent, would have been easy to access to an Alpha werewolf trained to look for it. Except it was linked to everything else: Lydia, Scott, werewolves; going back to that first night in the wood where everything started.

So in his attempt to get to one single information, Theo was ripping out the rest. He was not made to do this.

Stiles was being unraveled. He just had time to painfully realize it before that part of his mind got taken away too; and all that was left behind was a gaping hole with torn edges where memories should be.

Theo wrenched his claws out brutally, looked down at Stiles' limp form falling heavily on the ground as he wiped the blood from his fingers, no emotion on his face. He walked away without a single thought for the unconscious boy with half a life missing.

 

_He's trying to kill me!_

_For a long time, he tried to forget it was one of the last memory he had of his mom: loving hands turned weapons against him. Everything she was, erased. She was dead long before that night, long before the sound of her absent heartbeat filled the room in a single, unbroken note. He can still hear it, sometimes. The soundtrack of him killing his mother._

 

It's Scott who found him, after he came out of this hellish night at the high school mostly unscathed. Not hearing back from the clinic, he decided to drive there to see for himself.

In the first light of dawn, all he could see as he slammed on the break, jerking with the abrupt stopping of his bike, was the turned over Jeep. A body unmoving on the ground, next to the vehicle.

Scott's heart jumped to his throat but he managed to get off his bike with supernatural grace. He discarded his helmet and let it drop to the ground carelessly to run to his best friend as fast as he could.

Stiles was on his stomach, so Scott immediately noticed the blood coating the back of his neck and his heart froze between two frantic beats. It crumbled in million ice pieces as he rolled Stiles on his back to see the blood running down the human's nose and ears, still fresh on top of flakes of older blood disseminated on his face.

Tears clouding his vision, Scott pulled out his phone with fingers shaking so hard he barely managed to dial 911. He called the Sheriff next, but couldn't get the words out of his throat a second time. Stiles' dad understood all the same. With calm words probably contradicting everything he felt, he got the teen to tell him where they were.

And then Scott was alone. He was alone with his best friend that wouldn't open his eyes no matter how much he begged him to.

The only thing keeping him from falling over the edge was the strong heartbeat he could hear inside Stiles' ribcage. He convinced himself that as long as there was life, there was hope.

 

_When they first kissed, it was everything good in the world wrapped in a single moment. It was painful, too, because Derek was leaving soon. It was beautiful, though, because he promised to come back._

“ _One year,” he said, “one year to be better for you. For myself.”_

“ _One year,” Stiles whispered back._

_Derek put a folded piece of paper in his hand, “In case of trouble,” he wanted Stiles to swear. Stiles smiled, said nothing, Just let the happiness in his heart grow and grow until he drowned in it, until he knew it would last him a year, no matter what._

 

It was Lydia who was there when Stiles first woke up, three days after the attack; Scott was tracking down Theo and trying to deal with the Dread Doctors mess at the same time, the Sheriff was getting himself coffee and a reprieve from watching another member of his family in a hospital bed.

Stiles eyes fluttered open, and Lydia ruled down the frown on his face as the confusion that comes with waking up from a coma after going through a traumatic event.

She smiled and softly told him he was safe. “Your dad will be back soon, okay?” she said. He smiled back in this peculiar lopsided way she hadn't seen in a long time, and it almost warmed her heart before he said:

“What is Lydia Martin doing at my bedside? Is this a dream, or did I forget we...,” he waved his finger between them, “did I hit my head so hard I forgot dating Lydia Martin?”

John Stilinski chose to come back in the room just when Lydia's eyes widened in horror. He looked between his son -awake and alive- and Lydia, face pale like she just found a new dead body.

“Oh, hell. What did he do to my kid?” he asked to the deity that seemed to hate their family.

“Daddy-o!” Stiles exclaimed, not exactly oblivious to the tension in the air but ignoring it until he could gather more informations. “When did you–,” and his eyes fell on the hand holding the cup of coffee, smile suddenly dropping, “When did you take off your wedding ring?”

 

_When his mom played on the old, out of tune piano, he felt like flying. She often told him of her dream to be a soloist, if only her parents had let her. Being a music teacher was the closest thing she had to a career surrounded by her passion._

_He would lie on the floor and listen to her and,_

_peace, calm, heart slowing down and thoughts quieting down._

_Never as settled as when she played and still...flying._

 

It was John who called Derek, because no one else had his phone number. Stiles gave his father a folded piece of paper, coming back from Mexico. Said, “If I look at it, I won't be able to stop myself. He deserves to get away from here until I can follow.”

Derek picked up asking who it was, and the Sheriff was at loss for words. He'd been aware of feelings growing between Hale and his kid for a long time now, but he had no idea how far exactly they went before Derek left.

Stiles will probably get angry at his old man for disturbing Derek's peace. For making him come back. But John didn't doubt for a second that Derek would run to the mouth of hell for his son. Derek deserved to know what happened.

“It's John, uh, Stilinski.” He cleared his throat but didn't wait too long to continue because Derek probably started to panic at those words. This kind of phone call never means anything good for the person you gave your number to. “Stiles is– has a– he's coming back from the hospital today,” he stammered out because it was still difficult to talk about his son's attack.

“He doesn't remember the last years. His last memory is, um, from before Scott was bitten.” There was probably a better way to say this, a Sheriff's way, but goddammit this was about his family. He couldn't handle this more delicately when he already felt himself breaking.

There was a silence. John had the time to wonder what Derek could be thinking. Memory loss is so very human. He learned the hard way how it can happen agonizingly slowly, like ripping pages from a book one by one; this time it had been so sudden: a house set on fire until not even ashes remained.

Derek was probably thinking about the day he first met Stiles. It was after the fateful night that changed his life, so...

“I'm on my way,” came from the phone, voice hoarse, and then the line went dead.

 

_What are you, now?_

_Better._

_The lie rested heavy on his tongue but his heartbeat stayed steady. He learned to do that from hours of repeating_ I'm fine, I'm fine I'm fineI'mfine _in front of the mirror. He lied and lied and lied until he couldn't tell himself what was the truth._

_I'm also wondering where your friends are. Shouldn't one of you get to live?_

_Yes. That was not a lie, one of them should get to live. Just not him, not if it meant everybody else died– left him behind to stare at more graves, more earth full of dust and unlived futures._

_Why would I write another name?_

_He feared needles, once, and blood and pain and death; but he looked at a syringe full of pain and death ready to course through blood and he thought the prickle of it wouldn't be the worst thing. The worst would be to become another nightmare for Lydia, tied just at the edge of his vision, another dying breath she would have to listen to, to scream for._

_But then the needle disappeared from his view to go near her and this is worse, he thought. Two friends balancing the scale of life, and being the one left behind to make it tip. Again. Allison again, his mom, again and again, how can he deserve to be the one to survive every time? Or...is it punishment?_

 

The days following Stiles being out of the hospital, Scott and Lydia came over whenever they could between surviving the Dread Doctors and chasing after Theo.

The rest of the Pack stayed back, because Stiles didn't know them anymore and quite frankly...they had no idea this version of Stiles had even existed. It hurt Scott everyday, that Kira, Liam, Malia, they never got to know him.

There's a bro pact, buried somewhere at the back of a closet or in a box under a bed, that states that if something cool -spies, superpowers, Hogwarts letters- is ever to happen to one of them, they have to tell the other.

When they explained to Stiles that he lost almost four years worth of his life, once the initial shock passed (they all had to leave the room so the nurses could try to talk him out of the panic attack, but he passed out before they even got around sedating him), he reminded Scott of that.

Ever so observant Stiles, the one who figured out the werewolf situation first all those years ago, knew that something was off, different, beside ScottandStiles being older and “friend with Lydia Martin apparently”.

Scott told him everything. Or, not everything exactly, a watered down version of their high school years. He knew Stiles would love the werewolf revelation -again- but he didn't want to shatter this innocent awe just yet with the death that followed.

So he didn't mention Allison, or Isaac, Erica, Boyd. Left out the Hales. He made out a tale where StilesandScottandLydia were the heroes, their very own version of the golden trio. Stiles wasn't exactly fooled, but he let himself be.

One night, after they were so, so close to catching Theo but had to defend themselves from the Doctors -they were starting to lose ground and Scott was afraid they'll all be dead before Stiles could even remember half the Pack-, Scott came to check on Stiles.

That night, just before Scott went out again and -he didn't know it yet- finally solved the Theo issue, Stiles turned in his desk chair with a thoughtful frown, pen in his mouth and eyes to the ceiling. He asked, “Do we know any Derek?” Scott dropped the glass in his hand and it hit the carpeted floor with a dull thump that Stiles didn't notice. “Cause I feel like I know a Derek.”

 

_He had practice with alcohol, stealing from his father cabinet sometimes. One time, when he was eleven, or maybe twelve, Stiles wondered what kind of medicine was in that amber liquid that made his dad feel better. So he tried it, hoping to rid himself of this aching pain never leaving his heart._

_Since then, there was this quiet understanding that Scott would never take more than one gulp from a bottle -when he could still get drunk- if Stiles was around to drink from it too._

_And where was Scott? Stiles needed him because his father was here, at Lydia's party, and he shouldn't be. Couldn't be. He wasn't here as a cop._

_He was here as a man just back from his wife's funeral._

_It's you. It's all you._

_As a man with medicine in his hand and salt in his mouth, pouring in wounds that never closed._

_Raise this stupid kid on my own. Hyperactive little bastard who keeps ruining my life._

_Reopening an old injury to make it bleed, bleed in confirmation of what Stiles already knew to be the truth._

_You killed your mother, you hear me? And now you're killing me._

 

They finally caught Theo. Scott, using his Alpha powers, found himself weighted down by another life stored in his head. It was a weird feeling.

For a second, he entertained the idea of just...letting it all disappear. The sadness. Flow away like blood down the drain. But he didn't. It wasn't his choice to make.

They wanted to wait for Derek to go back inside Stiles head, in case something went wrong and they messed his head even more. But they didn't know when he would show up, hadn't heard from him since the Sheriff called him.

A few hours before they started, waiting at least for Melissa to be around in case something went wrong, Stiles learned that Derek was coming. He turned to Lydia and Scott and said, “I know he's important to me but...I can't remember his voice or how he looked. I can't really say what kind of guy he was except that idea of him being here makes me so happy my heart feels like it's exploding.” He raised a hand to his chest, a smile on his lips and eyes lost in a dream. “The only thing I know for sure, is that I'll recognize him as soon as I see him!” he added enthusiastically.

Timing was perfect, as it turned out. Or maybe painfully out of sync by just a second. Scott almost believed Derek would be blessed, would never get to see Stiles like this -bright and vibrant like a painting before it's burned by the sun- before his memories were returned to their rightful place.

But a knock came to the door and behind it stood Derek, pale and worried on top of layers of all the good months away did to him.

When he got into the living room, Stiles and Lydia turned to see who just arrived. Stiles got up.

“Oh! Oh, hi!” he nervously said, his cheeks reddening and his eyes widening and for a second it seemed like– “I- I'm Stiles.”

Stiles extended his hand for Derek to shake, unaware of the heart shattering in million pieces in front of him.

 

_Yeah, I would've told you, but we're not actually friends_

_That...hurt. Yeah, that hurt, because they might not be friends in that they never really hung out together, but...he cared for Boyd. He thought the guy cared for him -them- at least a little. He thought they could be Pack and maybe build that friendship. Boyd already knew one of his secret. He was there. He was the only one left who could tell what the three white dots on Stiles' ribs are. The memory of electricity firing up his whole body as he kept on provoking Gerard, who said, “If you love them so much, you won't mind sharing their pain,” before sending a broken teenager as a message that Stiles damn well made sure never got in the mail._

_Always electricity, he would later think, as Oliver and then Brunski tased him. As Allison tried to use it against the Nogitsune. As Boyd casually rejected him. As his father said– he said... “_ _ Trust you? Scott, I trust. _ _”_

 

Stiles looks at the car parked in the street, not shiningly new or even remotely clean and huffs out a laugh.

“So, you've finally found a middle ground between sports cars and moms cars?”

A muffled hum comes from under the hood of the Jeep, and from where he is all Stiles can see is one leg and part of a butt. It's not that the view is not nice, but he fears the engine might swallow Derek whole before making a burping noise like in cartoons.

The man finally straightens up, avoiding with grace to connect his head with the hood. “I just wanted something cheap that would last me the year.”

Stiles feels something warm in his chest at the implication: he always knew Derek was coming back but this is just confirmation that staying away was never an option for the wolf.

“Here, help me out a little instead of...,” Derek hesitates a bit, looking Stiles up and down where he's leaning against the side of the Jeep, “never mind,” he quickly finishes before disappearing again.

Stiles rolls his eyes, tired of everyone walking on eggshells around him and treating him like he's made of sugar. Scott is the worst, but Stiles can't blame his best friend; he knows exactly what Scott saw in his head. Plus, he agreed to Stiles' pleads to never tell the Sheriff about any of these memories, so he's allowed to fuss over his very human best friend.

The rest of the Pack tries to act like nothing happened while glancing worryingly every few seconds Stiles' way, and he even got awkward shoulder bumps and small gifts -food, books, and school work that miraculously turned up on teachers desk. The only ones not being overly delicate with him are Malia and Lydia, which is very refreshing.

Stiles' dad is a whole other matter entirely. He's worried, it's obvious, but he doesn't know what to do with it anymore. They both never were really good with talking about feelings, best expressing themselves with hugs. Still, there's a few overdue conversations that Stiles will need to have with his father, it's the only way he will ever be able to alleviate some of the weights he's been carrying around for so long.

“What do you need?” Stiles asks, walking behind Derek and it's too tempting to just– he lets his upper half fall on Derek's back, arms dangling off the sides, and pretends he's asleep.

“Stiles,” Derek warns, “Stiles get off!” He laughs and the sound makes Stiles so happy he could float away to the clouds. He nuzzles the back of Derek's shirt a few more seconds before stepping back with a content sigh.

“I didn't think a car could run that long with only duct tape holding the engine together,” Derek says thoughtfully, turning around to half sit on the front of the Jeep and grabbing Stiles by the hips. His eyes look a the teen so intensely that Stiles squirms a little, embarrassed.

Derek opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then just smiles and hugs Stiles so tight the air is crushed out of him. It's nice, though, being held like this. Happiness always felt like flying to him, never-stopping mind taking him to the sky. But being alone and scared was its terrifying counterpart of drifting away in the dark. He felt that way for so long that now he needs to be grounded. He needs to let himself use his anchor.

 

_Stiles listed to the side once Scott got his claws out. Derek was there to catch him. He swore he would always be, from now on._

 

The Jeep starts up with a content rumble that Stiles hasn't heard in a very long time. Derek should have been a mechanic. He certainly looks the part of the sexy mechanic helping you in the middle of nowhere, taking off his shirt because it's so hot out– Stiles stops himself before anyone can smell the direction his thoughts were taking.

Everything is loaded up. The Sheriff steps back from the car after giving a one arm hug to his son through the window.

“Ride safe,” is all he says, tapping the hood of the car twice and turning away when Derek drives off, because they said their goodbyes already. It's not like they won't see each other again, Stiles just needs some time out of Beacon Hills now that they solved the Dread Doctors case. The Pack already planned to come and visit Derek and Stiles at their place during the breaks. They will scatter across the country to go to college in a few months, and Stiles will eventually follow.

_Their place_ , Stiles thinks. It sounds surreal. Their place. Stiles will never get sick of thinking the words. _Them_. “It's not finished,” Derek told him, because he was building it himself with some help. When Stiles felt guilty for forcing Derek to come back so soon, he retorted, “I was building it for us. It wouldn't mean anything if you weren't around to even see it. It would just be a pretty, empty house.”

So, now Stiles feels guilty for not calling Derek sooner. But he's working on it, asking for help. Derek too, so they make quite a pair, the two of them.

_A pair_ , Stiles thinks. He smiles, feeling the wind on his face. Turns to Derek to see him smile too. The time without his memories is fuzzy at best, but there's something that sticks out very clearly. This smile. Even when the rest was stolen away, he kept Derek's smile with him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and and the shortest comments are awesome :) Tell me what you think of this story!


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